


Learning From The Master

by ununoriginal



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, One Shot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-04-18
Updated: 2002-04-18
Packaged: 2017-12-14 13:32:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/837428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ununoriginal/pseuds/ununoriginal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm your lover, not your house-elf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learning From The Master

I gave those infinitely soft lips one last nibble and suck before reluctantly dragging myself away to draw in gasping breaths of air.  Not missing the tiny whine of disappointment coming from underneath me, I replaced my mouth with my fingers, shivering as they entered moist depths, sending sparks of sensual delight speeding up my arm from the sensitive nerve endings in my fingertips.

Leaving my right hand where it was obviously meant to be, I let the other wander down his body – a gentle stroke here, a feather caress there, eliciting familiar cries of pleasure that inexplicably, still seem so fresh and new.  The urge to claim his lips overcame me and I surged up to capture them.  The next few moments were spent re-exploring the intimate darkness, tongues tangling and battling for dominance. 

Suddenly, I felt a leg hook over mine, and before I could gather what had happened, our positions had reversed: me gazing up, eyes wide, with the breath flattened out of me; and him, face alight, grinning playfully back down, a triumphant gleam in the sapphire blue eyes. 

“You’ve had your way.  Now it’s my turn.”  He lowered his head as if to kiss me, but deliberately shifted at the last instant to deliver a long slow lick along the shell of my ear.  I barely stifled my gasp at the exquisite shock.  From my ear, his wicked tongue made its lazy, wet trek down my neck, following the arteries until the point where clavicle met sternum, dipping in to lap up the moisture that had gathered there. 

“Ron…”  I reached for him, trying to touch him in return, but he caught my hands, interlacing our fingers. 

“Draco, give it up.”  I could just feel myself melting into a puddle.  “As I said, it’s my turn now.”  Why on earth did I not find out sooner how utterly sexy and seductive his voice could be?  My insides, were each performing their own little tap-dance with every cadence and intonation.  Maybe if one of his ancestors had demonstrated such prowess to one of mine all those centuries ago, the Weasley-Malfoy feud would never have come about.  A good shag could definitely go a long, long way, in my opinion. 

“Malfoy, are you paying attention?”  Ron’s voice drifted from further down, the slight hints of annoyance and, dare I hope, jealousy, making me even harder. 

“Of c-course, I w—Oh, god!”   My breath hitched as the ghost of a breath made its fiery presence felt upon the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. 

“No, Draco.  _Now_ you’re paying attention.  Before that, your mind was off somewhere.  Honestly, I’m a little hurt – what could be so captivating that it could distract you from this…”  It was a miracle that I was still able to string together a coherent sentence, even if it was just in the privacy of my own brain.  All those popsicles and ice cream cones he was ever so fond of licking were SO definitely paying off. 

“Well, I’m still waiting.”  And he was going to have to wait a hell of a lot longer if he didn’t let up. 

Finally he took slight pity on me, and the wicked suction eased up a bit.  With an effort, I forced myself to answer, squeezing the words out with a rasp I barely recognised as my own voice.  “Just… pondering the state of… inter-family relations.” 

“Huh?”  He lifted his head to give me a puzzled look, and I gritted my teeth to stifle my scream of frustration.  “What family relations?” 

“Yours.  And mine,” I answered shortly.  Then I shifted, wiggling my hips in order to remind him to put that sinful mouth to better use. 

“What about them?” he persisted curiously, hands clamping evilly down over my lower body to keep it from moving.  Tantalisingly, he bent his head lower, soft exhalations puffing over my throbbing cock, eyes still teasingly fixed on mine. 

“I was just thinking that if your great-great-grandfather and my great-great-grandfather had just got on with each other all those eons ago, our families might not be having all these problems now.” 

For a few seconds, he looked absolutely flabbergasted.  It was completely, utterly adorable.  Then he laughed, and I could swear, the very air became brighter.  “Trust you to believe that shagging is the universal band-aid to all troubles.” 

“Hey, the Muggles said it too – ‘Make love, not war’,” I pointed out loftily. 

“Whoa, I don’t think I can take much more of this.  A Muggle phrase, coming from you?”  The guy was definitely enjoying himself a tad too much.  I had to steer him back to the matter at hand. 

“If you’re done with our ‘stereotyping-Draco’ session for the day, can we move on?  Someone’s feeling a little neglected here.”  I pouted a bit, mainly for the effect. 

“And we can’t have that, can we?”  His eyes turned dark with lustful passion once more, and I shivered with anticipatory delight at his transformation. 

In retrospect, I probably rejoiced too soon. 

For all his seeming bluster and goofiness, Ron was a master tactician, and those brilliant strategies his blessed red head conceived were not merely limited to the chessboard.  All the appropriate moves had been made, and the pieces placed, before he sprung his checkmate. 

Three of his fingers were buried in my ass, insidiously sending wave after wave of blissful sensation spreading out from my prostate when it all. suddenly. stopped. 

“Ron?”  I tried to move, but his arm across my hip was iron.  I was close, so near the edge, but the fullness within me wasn’t quite enough.  I needed more friction, heat, movement, _anything,_ but this unexpected stillness. 

“Do you want me to move?”  

What the hell kind of question was that?!  “Fuck, yes!” 

“More than anything in the world?” 

“Yes, yes, YES!!” 

“Really?”  His fingers scissored, curled in, scraping over my gland, and I shuddered at the abrupt inundation of pleasure.  Then he stopped.  Again. 

“Ronald Arthur Weasley!” 

“Man, you sound like my mother.” 

I couldn’t care less if I sounded like a bloody fishmonger’s wife, I just wanted him to _move_ , damnit! 

“Then you have to promise me something.” 

“What?!” 

“You’re going to have to stop leaving your stuff lying around and expecting me to clear it up for you.  I’m your lover, not your house-elf.”  The request was punctuated by a lick along the length of my cock. 

“Fine,” I gasped. 

“And you have to clean up after you use the bathroom.  I’m sick up seeing your hair clog up the drain and always having to be the one to do something about it.”

Despite the intense stimulation, my mind was clearing somewhat and I began to see where this was leading.  “Weasley…” 

“And last but not least,” he continued blithely in that still unbelievably sexy tone, “we’re going to have to split the household duties.  I’m not so particular about absolute cleanliness, so how about we alternate weekends?” 

“A Malfoy doesn’t do housew—!”  Damnit, how can one speak when one gets deep-throated like that?!

“You were saying?” 

There was movement again, but his fingers were gliding across my prostate with such excruciating slowness it bordered on pain. 

“No… I mean… I… we…” 

“What are you trying to say?  That’s it’s a wonderful idea?”  The sudden increase in pressure upon my cock and inside me coincided with the question. 

The refusal forming upon my lips dissolved into an unbridled shout of, “Yes, Ron!  Yes!!” 

His mouth suddenly clamped down, taking his fingers’ place, and he began to nibble and suck enthusiastically.  It was the last nudge I needed, and my world exploded in crimson and white. 

When I floated back into existence, he was still lying on top of me, gently sucking upon my lower lip.  My tongue darted out, tasting the spunky flavour coating it.  “I’m glad you saw it my way,” he purred with no small hint of smugness. 

I released a martyred sigh, conceding the match to him.  “And I used to believe you were such an innocent.  You’re getting too devious for my own well-being.” 

“Well, you know what they say, love.  I learnt it from the master.”


End file.
